Red
by Mayofish
Summary: And there has always been something wrong with Papalymo — something different. Keeping the balance between Black and White magic was never easy.


Papalymo joins the Thaumaturge Guild when he first comes of age. He is young, brilliant and he just wants to change the world and make a name for himself. He excels in the basics and his abilities when it comes to study are unsurpassed. His connection to the Aether both inside of himself and around him surprises many of his teachers. His strong command over magick leaves many whispering behind his back. They are scared of what could become of him if he strays from the path. He is strong and, at first, they can see no flaws.

But when it comes to combat training and putting his skills to use, something is wrong. He struggles to keep up as the fight draws on. He gets weak, dizzy. The tell him to stop, step down and his peers who never showed as much potential as him surpass him. There is a meeting, the guildmaster's fight and yell. They like Papalymo; they want to see Papalymo succeed. The word 'but' hangs in the air. Papalymo feels like he's failed and he can't understand why. He clenches his fists.

Finally, one of his trainer's comes out to him. He won't make eye contact.

"You do not have enough mana to continue down this path. You're mana reserves are...smaller than we thought."

The news devastates Papalymo. He is young but he never thought of any other path. Papalymo is angry and hurt but it spurs him to push harder. At first he doesn't know what to do. He wants to give up, go home. But that is not who Papalymo ever was nor who he is. He leaves Ul'dah and spends his time with his nose in old tomes and libraries. He wants to learn — to make a difference. So he does.

Then, without an outlet for his magicks, it doesn't take long for him to start getting sick. It is like Aether sickness with dizzy bouts and blackouts. He tries to expel his extra energy with the spells he learned in the Thaumaturge guild and there is relief, if only briefly. He doesn't know what to do so he ignores it. As time passes Papalymo finds himself paying more attention to tomes and studying than his health. He has heard of the city of Sharlayan and their prestigious outlook on learning. He is resolved to travel there even with his deteriorating health. And maybe they could find a cure. He prepares for the long journey, double and triple checking his list, and then, he sets out.

It is no surprise that with his dedication to the journey instead of his health that he does not get far. The sickness has set into his bones and his lungs ache. He has to break often and gets upset with himself. He takes his anger out on wildlife, shooting fireballs in frustration. The magick itself is unstable and unpredictable. There is a time when the spell explodes in his own hand. He had to soak it in a river but it still blisters and peels. Still, Papalymo tries to push on.

He doesn't remember where he is when he finally collapses. Papalymo wants to vomit, but he hadn't been able to eat in days. He thinks he is going to die. He just wants to see the Great Library — to have a chance to study in Sharlayan. He just wants to help people. He tries to drag himself forward. He can see a settlement in the distance. There is nothing but trees above him and he closes eyes. Everything hurts — burned and he is so so dizzy. He shoots a fireball up into the sky as a kind of flare. He hopes someone sees it.

* * *

"Don't try to move. Your aether is a mess."

A female voice but Papalymo can barely see. He makes out tan skin, white hair. She pressed a damp cloth to his forehead and waves to someone behind her.

"What is your name?" she asks as his eyes start to focus. Everything stings still and he feels like he's going to throw up again. He clutches her arm to steady himself and her brows knit with worry.

"P-Papalymo," he rasps and his voice doesn't even sound like his own.

"Okay, Papalymo. My name is Y'shtola. You are going to just fine but I am going to have to move you. It...won't be pleasant."

* * *

Black magick is done by drawing on one's own aether — their own lifeforce and mana — to conjure a devastating destruction spell. It is usually the easiest form for magick to learn at a base level simply because you only need to look into yourself. Although easiest to learn, it is regarded the hardest to perfect. Black magick will eventually take its toll on the caster which is more often than naught the outcome of most untrained mages.

White magick, on the other hand, requires you to draw aether from your surroundings — usually nature and it cannot be taken without permission or something else in return. White magick is usually nature based but can also be used as a strong healing magick. White magick must be taught and used carefully or the Elementals will take what they think they deserve in return, forcefully.

However, there also exists a small handful of mages that can use both Black and White magick proficiently. Although, they will usually lean one way or another there exists danger in not keeping a balance. Taking too much aether from one source or another will create an unbalance in these certain individuals. This imbalance is almost always deadly if left unchecked.

These mages are called Red Mages and they exist in an eternal conflict to find balance between taking from themselves and taking from their surroundings. They often struggle when it comes to fighting alone, but when paired with one or more companions, Red Mages can become unstoppable. Especially once they learn to read their partner. The aid they can give to their comrades in the heat of battle is unrivaled by any other magick user. Hard to master and even harder to find someone to meld with; Red Mages often fall victim to their own powers.

* * *

When Yda and Papalymo were first assigned to work together, they were both young and hotheaded. Some things never change.

Yda is new to the Circle of Knowing and they don't know each other very well. He accidentally hits her with a fireball once or twice and she shouts at him. Really, it should have been an easy mission; defending a caravan but nothing is easy when Yda just won't hold still. He can't read her — she is all over the place and Papalymo had never really fought side by side anyone like her. Yda is unpredictable, wild and just everything he would learn to hate and love all at once. Yda is a disaster. Yda is Yda and there is really no other way to explain it.

So, of course, something has to go wrong. It is Yda and Papalymo after all and they always find a way. The raiders that attack are coordinated and Yda and Papalymo are not. Her rapid movements distract him and he can't concentrate on their attackers. He tries to aim carefully but she ends up doing exaggerated flips which make him jerk his staff. His spells hit their target more often than not, but his nerves are on edge.

He doesn't want to hurt her. He curses himself; he curses Yda.

Papalymo doesn't register that one of the raiders had snuck up him and can't comprehend the dagger in his gut. He gasps and jerks his staff back into his assailant. Most of the attackers have been taken out and Yda lowers her fists. She wipes the sweat from her forehead on the back of her hand and turns to face Papalymo. She sees blood; she sees the last raider. She rushes forward, ramming her shoulder into the rogue at full force. He crumples. She kicks him off the caravan and signals for them to move. The chocobos make loud noises of displeasure as the cart lurches back into movement.

Yda turns to Papalymo. She falls to her knees and presses her hands against his wound with too much pressure. She tries to stop the bleeding and he groans in pain. She is swearing and growling under her breath.

"I don't need your help," Papalymo whispers sharply. He brushes her hand away harshly and replaces it with his own. The blood has soaked through his robes and it is warm against his suddenly cold body. He feels faint and has to close his eyes. He tries to steady himself but Yda isn't helping.

"You're bleeding all over and I'm not losing my first partner! How bad would that look?!" Panic is starting to set in Yda's voice. Her hands are shaking and she is frantically trying to find something to clean up the blood. All she finds is a flask and she contemplates downing the ale inside to ease her nerves. Or maybe offer it to Papalymo to help with the pain? "Oh, Twelve, I knew I should have took that first aid course!"

"Gods, Yda. Be quiet!" Papalymo takes a deep breath. His hands start to glow and he grunts. The bleeding stops slowly and he reaches into his bag for some bandages. He will live.

At first Yda is speechless and he wishes she would stay that way.

"You...you can use white magic!" She exclaims so suddenly Papalymo jumps. He fumbled with the bandages, nearly dropping them.

"I said: be quiet." He is trying to concentrate on getting his robes open so he can wrap his wound. It is not closed completely but the blood has clotted and and the pain has eased slightly.

"Papalymo, do you know what this means?"

"Aye, Yda, I am aware of my own abilities. Thank you."

"Was that sarcasm?" She giggles and grabs a cloth to wipe her bloody hands on. There is a lapse in silence and Yda chews on her lip. Then, "But I'm glad you're okay. It was messy, but we did it!"

And they would learn. Yda and Papalymo would learn and grow — together. That is why they were assigned together in the first place. Yda needs someone to think clear for her in the heat of battle and Papalymo needs someone who can balance him out because in the end, they can't do it without the other.

Yda is white and Papalymo is black. Together they are red and although it doesn't make much sense to outsiders, to them, it works.


End file.
